Look Closely (30 page)

“It was a nice way to find out firsthand what you were thinking about, Hailey. What you were doing. Besides, you’ve got to admit that your friend, Maddy, is quite the attractive girl.”

“You disgust me.”

He paused. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You left the ring at Maddy’s place on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Why not? I didn’t wear it anymore. I haven’t worn it since your mother died. And you were taking so very long to figure things out.”

“You were having me fol owed!” And then another piece shifted into place. “You sent me that letter.”

“I thought it was time,” McKnight said. “You’re a big girl now.”

My breath was coursing in and out, too fast, too shal ow. I felt light-headed and then red with anger. “You sick asshole. Did you kil her? You just said you were there that night, and I wouldn’t put it past you to brag about it. Did you hurt her?”

“You don’t know yet? Maybe you aren’t that savvy.”

“Tel me.”

“This is yours to figure out, Hailey Bel e.”

“If you cal me that one more time, I’l —”

“You’l what?” he said incredulously.

“I’l cal the police.”

He laughed again. “And tel them what?”

He was right. It was an empty threat. I could say that I wanted the investigation of my mother’s death opened again, that I suspected McKnight had had something to do with it, but what if he didn’t? What if the real person at fault was my dad or Caroline or Dan?

I clenched and unclenched my hands. I felt like screaming so loud they would hear it across the lake in Woodland Dunes. Instead, I grabbed my briefcase from the floor, threw open his office door and ran for the elevator.

24

On the way to the airport, I cal ed the airlines and booked a flight to New Orleans. My hands had a light tremor to them, as if an earthquake was rumblingahundredmilesaway.Iwantedtocal Maddy, butshewouldstil beinthatdeposition,andIdidn’t know how to break the news to her just yet. I could barely get it to sound real in my own head.

I cal ed Ty. He answered right away at Long Beach Inn, and in that second after he said hel o I could see him clearly. The coppery hair hanging over his forehead, his strong shoulders beneath an olive T-shirt, the hint of a smile.

“Did you get my messages?” he said.

The urgency of his voice scared away his image in my mind. “No, I’m in Chicago.”

“Chicago? When did you get in? I would have come to see you.”

“I would have liked that.” I stared out the window at the bungalows lining the highway. Somewhere, inside one of those homes, someone was having an average day, a boring day. “I got in last night. For some business. But I’ve got to talk to you.” I pul ed my eyes away from the houses and stared at the back of the driver’s bald head. “I’ve got to talk to someone.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ty said. “I need to talk to you, too. That’s why I’ve been cal ing you al day. Something’s happened over here.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father resigned yesterday.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I thought his news would be somehow worse. “Was it unexpected?”

“Wel , yeah. My father could never quit that job. He loved it. That’s why I bought the inn from them. But look, that’s not the point. I don’t know how to tel you this.”

I closed my eyes. It was going to be worse. “What?”

“He started drinking last night. He used to have a problem, but he’d quit years ago. Anyway, Mom cal ed me because he was getting out of hand and scaring her. When I got to the house, he was total y loaded. It was pretty out of control. My mom had left the house, and I tried to get him to eat something, but he was talking crap. At least I thought.”

“What was he saying?”

“I didn’t real y pay attention at first. He was saying something about how he deserved it, but I had no idea what he meant. Final y, I realized he was talking about when he got promoted to chief of police. I kept saying, ‘Yeah, Dad, of course you deserved it,’but he wouldn’t listen to me. And then this was where it got weird. He grabbed my hand and said, ‘Tel Sutter that I could have done it on my own.’”

“Sutter?” The cab was weaving in and out of traffic, the motion making me nauseous.

“Your dad,” Ty said. “He kept repeating himself, but final y he told me that your dad had gotten him the promotion to chief of police.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know your dad was corporate counsel for the town of Woodland Dunes? Wel , apparently, he got my dad his promotion by having his predecessor fired.”

“That’s crap,” I said, but my voice was weak, unconvincing.

“Maybe. But that’s not the worst part. I don’t know how to say this.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Just say it.” I hated the flat tone of my voice.

Ty sighed. “He might have been talking shit. He was stinking drunk.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he knew the true story of what happened to your mom. He said your dad got him the promotion to keep him quiet, and he wanted the job bad enough to go along with it.”

Thecabhadpul edintotheairportnow,andthe driverstoppedatthecurb,waitingformetogetout.

“And?” I said, my voice anything but flat now. “Oh, my God, Ty, what? What happened?”

“I’m sorry, but he shut up then. I couldn’t get him to tel me anything else. He just kept saying that he could have gotten the job on his own, he should have done it by himself.”

The cabdriver had gotten out of the car and opened my door now. “Ma’am,” he said.

“Ty, thank you for cal ing me, for tel ing me this, but I have to go.”

“What are you doing? I could drive over there.”

“I wish so badly that I could see you right now, but I’m at the airport. I’m going to New Orleans.”

“New Orleans? Why? For business?”

“For my family,” I said. “For my mom.”

I had half an hour to wait until my flight boarded, so I sat on a padded bench, my cel phone at my ear. Ignoring the crowds and the announcements about gate changes, I cal ed that New Orleans number—the one I’d found in my father’s house, the same one he had given his secretary before he left town. Once again, it rang and rang. Yet what was I expecting? I had the address that the investigator gave me, and I would go there as soon as I landed.

I cal ed Amy next and told her I would be out of the office for at least another day. I didn’t know what I would find in New Orleans, but even if I could get a flight back to Manhattan that night, I couldn’t imagine going to work in the morning. The thought of ever working on the McKnight case again was repugnant. I kept seeing Sean McKnight’s face. I kept hearing his words

—
This is yours to figure out, Hailey Belle.

“Oh, no,” Amy said. “You’ve got to be back tomorrow.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. The partnership committee wants to interview you.”

“What? When did this happen?” But real y, what did it matter?

“They started today. Everyone else was here, so they said they would take yours tomorrow. I already told them you’d be back.”

“Tel them I can’t.” Two women walked by me, pul ing black bags on wheels. They were both laughing. I felt a stab of envy for them, for an uncomplicated and benign moment.

“Hailey, I real y think you need to get here tomorrow.” Amy had a knowing tone to her voice, which meant she had heard something through the secretary gossip pool.

“Why?” I said, although again I found it hard to muster up any alarm or even interest.

“Werner’ssecretarysaidyou’reonshakyground, andifyoudon’tgetinhereanddazzlethem,you’re definitely not going to make it this year.”

Dazzle them. It sounded as if they were expecting showy parlor tricks. “I guess this isn’t the year for me to be partner,” I said.

I shut off my cel phone.

Another cab ride, this one from the New Orleans airport to the address on Magazine Street. I felt exhaustion sweep over me with a few light brushstrokes, something I could put away for a while, but something that would claim me eventual y. My cel phone remained turned off inside my bag. I was sure that if I switched it on, I would find a message from Amy and at least a few from attorneys at the firm. But there was no one I wanted to talk to right now. Except my father.

Twenty-five minutes later, the driver turned onto Magazine Street, an eclectic mix of run-down homes, upscale restaurants and kitschy antique stores. I noticed a cab in front of us, one that had been there for most of our trip. A tingling sensation went through my body. The back of the passenger’s head in the cab. Why hadn’t I looked closer before? The thin gray hair, the ramrod posture, the perfect navy suit col ar. The passenger turned his head to watch something on the street, and I knew for sure. There was no mistaking the profile of my father’s high, proud forehead, his strong chin.

“Can you slow down?” I said to the cabdriver.

“We’re just about there.”

“Then stop, please.”

And as I said this, I saw my father’s cab halt in front of a tiny white house with a flat roof and a minuscule front porch. There were a few emaciated bushes out front, and the house paint was peeling, revealing that it had once been gray.

My cab pul ed to the curb about forty feet behind my father’s. “Here?” the driver said. At least I think that’s what he said. I could barely tel because of the blood hammering in my ears and my head, giving everything a fuzzy, reddish fun-house slant.

I watched my father get out of the cab in his navy suit, with only his brown leather briefcase in his hand. He looked calm, maybe even a little tired, as if he was stepping out of a taxi in front of the court building in Manhattan. Should I get out now and cal to him? Or should I fol ow him? No choice was right. They were both odd, false; I could almost convince myself this wasn’t happening.

I paid my cabdriver, and he got out to take my luggage from the trunk. I stayed in the car, watching my father trot up the front steps of the little house. He knocked, but apparently it was unlocked because he turned the knob and disappeared inside.

I thanked the driver, marveling at the businesslike tone of my voice, which I heard through the stil -thumping blood in my ears. I tried to mimic my father’s purposeful walk as I started down the sidewalk toward the house, but I felt clumsy, off balance. I stowed my overnight bag in the scraggly front bushes. I had a flash of a thought that this neighborhood might not be safe and my bag might get stolen, but it hardly seemed important.

I put my foot on the first of the steps. The house had shutters that were closed tight over the front windows. No sounds from inside. The silence made sense, though. My father and I had been silent for so long.

No choice but to climb the stairs, to put my feet one after another, to place my hand on the cool black iron of the doorknob and to turn it.

The door opened into a smal front living room, empty but for a nubby green couch and an old TV. There seemed to be no hal ways. From the living room I could see into the next room, a bedroom, obviously, from the double bed, neatly made with plain white sheets. There was another room beyond that and then another. A murmur of voices came from one of those rooms. The blood in my head pounded louder. Could my father hear it? Could he hear my footsteps on the softly creaking floorboards? Apparently not, because the voices kept talking, speaking words I couldn’t make out but growing louder.

I passed through the living room; I walked through the bedroom. I noticed a woman’s blouse folded at the foot of the bed, along with a quilt. A red-and-white quilt, half-made apparently, for there seemed to be squares missing. My pulse grew stronger; I could feel it in my fingertips, my stomach, my neck.
She was making you a quilt.

The next room was another bedroom, this one with two twin beds. The voices became stronger. I could see the edge of a table in the fol owing room, the kitchen. I could see a man’s arm on the brown wood.

“It’s over!” said an unfamiliar male voice. His tone was insistent, angry, but control ed. “We’ve got families, too. This has gone too far. Way too far! It has to end.”

“You’re right,” my father said. It was his courtroom voice, measured, deliberate. “This is the last time. I’ve told you that before. But if we hadn’t done this now, then al these years, they would be worth nothing.”

“They
weren’t
worth anything.” This time a woman’s soft voice. “Maybe it made sense at the beginning, but somewhere it got out of control. And it wasn’t worth it.”

“It was,” my father said.

I stepped into the kitchen. Two people sat at the table. My father stood near it, his briefcase at his feet. His mouth opened in a smal O. He looked as if he might break into song.

“Hailey,” he said, his voice a rough croak.

Thetwopeopleatthetableweresilent.Amanand a woman. Caroline looked older than the wedding picture I’d seen. “Hailey,” she said, as if mimicking my father. And then she began to weep quietly.

My brother, Dan, wore a yel ow golf shirt and jeans. His sandy-brown hair was a little silver near the temples. He’l look like Dad, I thought.

We al sat there, like actors on a stage, waiting for our directions, for someone to cal out our lines. But there was only a resounding silence that seemed louder than any scream.

Final y, I found words in my mouth. “Someone better tel me.” It might not have made sense to someone else, but it was al I could say, and no one looked confused.

My father’s shoulders sagged, as if he had just heard a guilty verdict from a jury. Caroline wiped her eyes but kept crying.

“You’re al grown up,” Dan said. A little smile moved his mouth.

“Someone better tel me,” I said again.

My father looked aged and sick al of a sudden, like an old man talking to ghosts that no one else sees. “Hailey, I can explain—”

“Dad,” Dan said, cutting him off. How strange that word sounded, coming from his lips. “It’s too late. This has got to stop.” He looked at me again, but this time it wasn’t a look of pride for a little sister, but an expression ful of regret. “Take a seat,” he said, and he pul ed out a chair for me.

“Do you remember the night Mom died?” Dan said, “when Caroline was supposed to babysit you?” He seemed to be the spokesperson of the group. My father just stared dumbly, as if he was only half there, in his body only, but not his mind. At the sound of her name, Caroline looked up.